


If you must be a tool, seek a kinder master than war

by Zenolalia



Series: Kinktober 2019 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bondage, Hrothgar Warrior of Light, Kinktober 2019, Male Warrior of Light, Multi, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Paladin Warrior of Light, Podfic Welcome, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Translation Welcome, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenolalia/pseuds/Zenolalia
Summary: The Warrior of Light seeks the reaffirmation of his own mortality at the hands of two acquaintances who seem unconcerned with any possible deific graces he may have. Better to fill his head with ribbons and lace, with the praise of kind fools, than tear himself apart over agonizing successes.





	If you must be a tool, seek a kinder master than war

Objectively, the warrior of darkness was the strongest mortal being in existence. He had performed feats almost beyond comprehension. He had shielded twin worlds, gutted gods both false and fallen, reclaimed societies from the edge of apocalypse.

If the Chais understood any of that, they showed no sign of it.

“The head, now.” Chai-Nuzz prompted.

The warrior rolled his neck, feeling the silk ribbons braided through his mane catch his throat. Not enough to choke, but the pressure on delicate arteries was undeniable. Perhaps it contributed to the rushing in his skull.

Dulia cooed at the changing color of his blue skin, where the ribbons dug in more deeply. “It’s all the more tragic our sweet Alphinaud isn’t here. It would be lovely to have him capture this portrait!”

Tomorrow, or next week perhaps, this would be humiliating. The warrior would swear to himself never again to seek the soft-fingered embrace of two chittering idiots with good hearts in place of good sense.

He had done it the last three times. And when the scarred emptiness left behind by the dead and ruined Light grew to hollow to ignore, he would return.

Chai-Nuzz studied his handiwork, and the warrior could all but feel his roaming eyes. The way his gaze caught not on exposed thighs or straining shoulders, but on the intricate knots of the ribbons. Chai-Nuzz was an engineer, seeking out even the tiniest flaws. Neither of them understood the depth of power kneeling at Dulia’s feet, but he came closer than his wife.

“Try to spread the wrists again, dearest,” Chai-Nuzz suggested.

“Oh, my darling, surely we can trust young Aleksei to do it himself?”

Chai-Nuzz distracted himself with pacing around the kneeling man, tapping at each knot holding the warrior’s arms back. He plucked his way up the spirals of silk that kept the warrior’s hands firmly clasped behind his own shoulders.

The warrior remained still, steady. There were no punishments here, no consequences for making a misstep. But he had his pride. He was, at his core, a tool for others to use. And, like his sword and shield, he would not take action without the prompting of his wielders. Chai-Nuzz had asked Dulia to test the knots. The warrior would not test them himself.

Chai-Nuzz plucked at the ribbon holding the warrior’s interlocked fingers together, just barely. It was bound tightly enough that even the small movement uncomfortably pressured the tendons in his hands.

“No, I suspect he will need more help, by now. I doubt he can stand up on his own, let alone manage fine motor control like this.” How delicate they believed he was. How blessedly little they truly knew of him. It was a relief to be freed of his supernatural expectations. Decorated like a doll and given normal, mortal limits.

“If you’re sure then,” Dulia said, already curling over the warrior’s head to reach his arms. Her soft belly pressed against his muzzle, cutting off his breath. She seemed not to notice; if she was truly so oblivious or simply playing the part, Aleksei still could not guess.

She lacked her husband’s delicate, analytical touch, digging her fingers into the soft skin of his wrists with gusto. But, she could not force more than a knuckle between them.

Chai-Nuzz hummed his approval. “Alright, dearest, I believe that’s all I can do for you.”

Dulia clapped and cheered, before clutching the warrior’s head to her chest, leaving him breathless again. “What lead shall we have today then, hmm?”

It was not a question for which she wanted an answer. This time it was ribbons rather than ropes or wires, but some parts of these visits remained the same every time.

“Oh, look at you! Soft as a newborn kitten,” she cooed, finally releasing the warrior’s head. “What a dear boy! Let me see, let me see.” She stood, darted to her armoire. “I’ve just the thing!” From the depths of her seemingly endless collection of clothes, she pulled a finely knitted lace scarf, dotted with bright glass beads.

“Perfect!” She declared. From the armchair to which he had retreated, Chai-Nuzz nodded, smiled softly at his wife’s endless exuberance. Practically floating, Dulia returned to stand in front of the warrior. “Chin up, sweeting!”

As commanded, the warrior raised his chin, pulling tight the network of ribbons across his neck. He could not see her hands at work, but she was no doubt tying the scarf through the braided loop that brushed against the hollow of his throat. He focused on the sensation of his pulse in his throat, on the pressure of his strained breathing, on the way these harbingers of death and danger were, in this moment, only feelings. A stage-play, safe and sound. A game.

A sharp tug of the scarf-turned-lead snapped his attention to the just as exposed, just as delicate back of his neck. He remained perfectly still. It would take far more than either of them could muster to move him. It would take nothing beyond one of Dulia’s chipper requests or Chai-Nuzz’s distracted commands. The dissonance was dizzying, blissful.

“So strong!” Dulia cooed, “what do you think, my darling, good enough to match a Talos yet?”

“Perhaps next time,” Chai-Nuzz declared, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that the warrior had slain some several dozen of the mechanical wonders without issue. Silk was agonizingly strong, as far as fabrics went, but he could shred his way free in an instant. Wonder of wonders that he would never do it, and ruin one of Dulia’s ever-dwindling luxuries.

“Up you get then, sweeting!”

“Now, dearest, as I said, he may not be able-” Before Chai-Nuzz could finish, the warrior had unfolded himself, towering over Dulia. Even with his tail wrapped in silken knots, unable to swish and counterbalance, it took only a moment. The pinprick ache of blood returning to his legs threatened his stability, but it had taken far more than this to keep him down before. The compulsion to stand, to follow his orders, was not so overwhelming as it often was on the field of battle, but this smaller, saner cousin of that iron will stood strong. “Well, I stand corrected.”

“Oh, silly! Our boy is the one standing!” Dulia giggled at her own joke, at ease with her singular mirth. “And perhaps walking! Come, come, sweeting.”

She set a slow, showy pace, circuiting the Chai suite. It was a challenge to follow her, even this slowly. Every step caused his tail to twitch, caused it to tug the ribbons that trailed down from his shoulders to bind it, threatened his balance. Remaining upright with the ribbons unbroken was a precarious act.

But, in exchange for the couple’s trust that he was a mere man, he persisted. He would live up to that faith.

He would always live up to the expectations set upon him.

It was his purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> [SpicyRecipeh's Kinktober 2019 list.](https://mobile.twitter.com/spicyrecipehs/status/1168390597738188801). Day 4: Bondage, shibari, or collars and leashes.


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